


Somehow That Was Everything

by Stargazer (RosemaryLove)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Language, One Shot Collection, Smut, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-19 13:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4747406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosemaryLove/pseuds/Stargazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So I was listening to 1989 and there were so many songs where I'm like okay so this is totally Bellarke.  So here are some one-shots for some songs from 1989.  WARNING: course language and suggestible content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to New York

Clarke stepped out of the airport and took a deep breath inhaling the car fumes, pollution, and crisp winter air.  Her first time in New York City.  Her first time away from home. She couldn't be happier under the overcast sky, in the cold air.  Having grown up in LA with her wealthy parents she'd never experienced anything like this city.  After her father died her mother became distant and it wasn't long until she couldn't wait to get away and now - finally - she has.

"Taxi!" She calls out, waving her hand to get the attention of the driver. The yellow cab pulls over, the driver gets out and puts her luggage in the trunk. In the car she tells the driver the address of her new apartment and they set off through the city.  During the drive she wasn't even ashamed of the fact that she was gawking at everything that moved past her window.  It wasn't like she'd never seen buildings before it's just she'd never seen buildings in New York before. There was something about it - the collective size of it all was overwhelmingly inspired.  She'd known she'd been searching for something she hadn't known before, and looking out at the city from inside the grungy cab she was starting believe she'd found it.

It was an hour and half from JFK to her apartment.  The driver unpacked the luggage from the trunk and Clarke payed him the amount due.  She looked up in awe at her new home, the old red brick building, and before she knew what was happening a man in a leather jacket and jeans picked up one her suitcases and ran down the street.

"Hey wait!" Clarke exclaimed, "No! Someone stop that man!" But before anyone could do anything the man disappeared around the corner.  Clarke quickly clung to her other suitcase.  The one with her clothes and toiletries and personal documents.  But the thief had ran off with her computer, art supplies and portfolio. "Shit! Oh, fuck fuck fuck!" Clarke swore aloud, too upset to care about the passersby.

_What am I going to do?_

It had taken her all her teenage life to fill her portfolio and she didn't have enough money to buy a new computer plus art supplies.  No way was she calling her mom to ask for a loan.  She hadn’t been in this city for two hours and it had already gone awry. She stood out in the cold weather clinging to her bag, her laboured breath curling in a fog in front of her face.   _How will I work? How will I paint? That was my life’s work in one fucking bag.  Why am I so stupid?_ She was almost on the verge of tears when she heard chuckling from behind her. She whipped around to see a scruffy haired man in a bomber jacket and baggy jeans, his breath swirling around him. "Is something funny to you?" Clarke snapped.

"Yeah. You." He replied without hesitation, smile still apparent on his face.

"I'm sorry. I guess I don't get what's so funny about being in this city for five minutes and already managing to lose half my shit!" It wasn't supposed to come out as crass as it did, but the man still gave Clarke a sympathetic smile.

"Where are you from?" He asked kindly.

"L.A." She responded, slightly taken aback from his sudden question.

"And how old are you?" The question was earnest but Clarke couldn't help herself.

"What is this?  An interrogation?" She shot.

"Hey, I'm just trying to help." He countered.

Clarke felt a pang of guilt for her rudeness. "Sorry. I'm 18."

“I take it this is your first time out and about by yourself.” Clarke flushed, she knew it was nothing to be ashamed of, but was it really that obvious?

“Yeah,” She answered shyly, “I just needed to get away."

"Do you have a place to stay?"

Clarke gestured to the building in front of them.

"Well, what do ya know?" The man beamed at Clarke, who just noticed the freckles sprinkling his olive skin. "Just call me neighbor." He stuck out his hand.

"Clarke Griffin." She said taking his warm hand in the winter chill.

"Bellamy Blake. Don't worry; I don't know one person who wasn't robbed their first week in New York." Clarke blushed.

“So it happened to you, too?”

“No.” He said plainly, “but I grew up in Detroit.” His smile fell briefly before he saw her suitcase. “Let me help you in. I promise I won't steal from you."

"Well, I'd certainly appreciate it." Clarke teased.

Bellamy picked up her bag and escorted her into the small lobby.  Just a table, a bulletin board, the staircase and an old grate elevator.  Bellamy escorted Clarke all the way to her door where she slid in the key and pushed open the door to her new home: 9c.

"Thank you so much for your help."

"Anytime. I live with my sister, Octavia, in 7b.  If you need anything - don't hesitate."

"I really appreciate it. It has certainly been an eventful first day." Clarke sighed, feeling suddenly exhausted at the thought that she still had to unpack.

"Welcome to New York." Bellamy joked. Clarke smiled up at him; it was the first time someone said that to her, and - despite the joke, she felt a surge of hope for the first time in this city.  In this old building and with this kind handsome stranger, who hopefully won't be strange for much longer.   _Maybe this could work out_.

"Thank you. It was a pleasure meeting you, Bellamy Blake.” She held out her hand in farewell and he took it. “I would invite you in but my couch is still in a box."

"Don't worry, it gives me an excuse to see you again, Clarke Griffin." Clarke could feel heat rise in her cheeks, Bellamy still holding her hand in his.

"I look forward to it." They lingered in this stance for a moment before Clarke stepped into her apartment and gave one last look at Bellamy as she closed the door.

She looked around her ivory painted apartment.  Cardboard boxes of assorted sizes lay piled in the middle of the room, not wanting to unpack them Clarke pushed the mattress to the floor and flopped down on it.  She lay there for a while breathing slowly, the scent of L.A. still idled on her old mattress, she listened to the sleepless city outside her windows that certainly wasn’t California.  Everything about this place was a contrast to L.A. and Clarke could not be happier about it. It was an entirely different movie. A whole new soundtrack that Clarke was ready to dance too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We begin our story in New York.


	2. Blank Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is a really quick little Drabble, I didn't want Clarke to be some crazy serial dater. She is some sort of socialite, though. I don't get what they do. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The sunlight pierced through the silky drapes of their suite in Marseilles.  Clarke scrunched up her face in waking and stretched out in the California King bed.  The white sheets tangled around her body.  The white cathedral like room was cool and the silky curtains fluttered in the morning breeze that crept in through the bay windows.  Clarke looked over to the other body in the bed, Bellamy Blake.  They had met in New York at a fashion show and Clarke couldn’t help the attraction she felt towards his bad boy vibe and messy brown hair.  There was something about the way his intense brown eyes seemed to burn right through her and she knew she had to have him.  It was a mistake but she didn’t care.  So last minute they grabbed their passports and were off to a penthouse suite in South France.

Bellamy’s back was to her and his breathing was slow and even in sleep.  She put one hand to his toned back and felt his muscles tense as he awoke, then ran her hand up and over his shoulder and pulled him to face her.

“Good morning,” he grumbled groggily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Morning,” she replied sweetly, propping up her head on her hand.  He opened his eyes, now a little more alert and stared at her. “What?”

“You are so beautiful in the morning,” he smiled.

“Oh, shut up,” she giggled as she leaned over and kissed him.  It was meant to be chaste but it quickly turned lustful and passionate, and it wasn’t before long until they were rolling around the massive bed fucking and crying out in pleasure.  No doubt their sounds could be heard from the streets below but this was Europe and they couldn’t bring themselves to care.

It was a passion filled weekend spent in Marseilles, mostly in bed, but they’d take a break, poke their heads outside and walk along the beach.  Clarke forgot about the demons haunting her; her illness, her dad’s unsolved murder, and her mom having a mental breakdown - and she actually started to feel happy.  She knew it was selfish to drag Bellamy into her family drama, he was such a good person (he practically raised his sister and still found a way to make a fairly decent living in security), but Clarke didn’t want to give up what they had going … not just yet.  This relationship was going down in flames one way or another so she thought she might a well make it last.  She kissed Bellamy on the beach, soaked in the warm sun, feeling the heat of his body against hers, she teasingly bit his lip knowing he wouldn’t fuck her in public.  But he held her to him desperately, fingers digging into her back.  She pulled back and he rested his forehead against hers.  She couldn’t help but think:  _ You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There once was a girl known by everyone and no one.


	3. Style

Clarke hears the car before she sees it. Bellamy is driving without headlights in the middle of the night, but Clarke isn’t surprised.  It’s best if no one sees them anyway.  They were supposed to be over; he broke her heart and she should hate him but she just can’t bring herself to it.  She remembers that last time she heard from him, it was just a text that read:  _ I’m doing well. I miss you. _ Clarke wrote back:  _ I’m doing well, too. _ She wasn’t going to admit she missed him, at the time she’d been too proud to for that.  And then months later out of the blue, he calls her saying he’s in town and wants to see her and before she can even think she blurts out a yes.  And now here she is, waiting for him at midnight in a tight little skirt and red lipstick, he always liked it when she wore red lipstick.

It would taste a lie to say she wasn’t nervous. What was she thinking? This wasn’t right. But as soon as he faded into view all her thoughts melted away and she was only glad to see him.

“Hey,” he said from the driver’s seat, a smile playing with his lips.

“Hey,” she replied.  Eight months and this was all they had to say to each other.  She knew she should tell him to leave, that this was a mistake, she knew where this was headed, but she couldn’t seem to help but watch them go around circles.  She climbed in the car knowing full well that this was either gonna end well or end badly - most likely the latter.  It was a long drive to the coast, and they drove it in mostly silence. Clarke noticed he was wearing jeans, a white t-shirt that hugged his muscles and a leather jacket, her mouth suddenly went dry.  “I heard that you were you going out with someone else,” Clarke stated in a sudden need for distraction, and partly to remind herself who exactly she was with.

“It’s true,” Bellamy replied looking over at Clarke, “But I - I can’t stop thinking about you and I.” His dark eyes seemed to burn with longing and Clarke couldn’t help but smile a bit.

“I know the feeling,” she said still looking in his eyes, “You should really be watching the road.” He turned his head forward quickly.

“Right.”

The rest of the drive was quite similar, silence that was thick with energy and desire, then small talk and he’d look over at her and she’d tell him to look at the road instead. Bellamy also turned on his high beams seeing as they were in the middle of nowhere (and after some nagging from Clarke).  It was the longest drive of Clarke’s life, she just wanted to fling herself on top of him and kiss him until the sun came up but she managed to restrain herself.  It didn’t use to be like this, the fire in her chest that burned for Bellamy, it seemed stronger now than it did months ago.  Maybe in their time apart it had only just built up deep inside her instead of dying out like she thought, and now that they’re together it’s all come flooding back.

When they finally arrived at the beach - the spot they always used to visit - the night was entering the wee hours of the morning, but Clarke was not tired.  In fact, she never felt more awake.  They climbed out of the car and the familiar sound of waves licking the sand hit like a ton of bricks.  The sound she always associated with passionate kisses, lip biting, long walks, frantic undressing and strong arms around her.  Bellamy’s arms.  Bellamy.

She looked over at him and he looked over at her and it was like the floodgates opened.  Clarke couldn’t get around the car fast enough, and then they crashed into one another like the ocean crashing to the beach.  Her arms went around his neck and her hands laced their way into his dark curls.  His hands clutching at the hem of her blouse, pushing her body closer and closer to his.  They parted briefly as they tore off their clothing but they were right back together as soon as every thread had been discarded.

Bellamy lifted Clarke onto the hood of his car and kissed her all over her body.  He kissed her until she was pulling at his hair and her vision was clouded by stars.  He traced sloppy kisses back up her body until he found her mouth again.  They looked at each other, blue eyes into brown eyes, taking in each other's appearances, before they were right back to desperately kissing each other.  Bellamy held her closer and closer and closer still.  He held her until they could not be any closer and they were moving rhythmically against each other.  Clarke took in every sensation.  The feeling of his calloused hands on her body.  The way he smelt of sweat and rain.  The taste of his lips and the touch of his tongue.  The way he looked when he was on top of her, covered in a sheen of sweat, lips swollen, face flushed and stray hairs clinging to his face (she was positive she didn’t look to different).  They fell over the edge together, crying out in pleasure.  The whole world seemed to disappear for those 30 magical seconds, and all that existed was them.

Now Bellamy is flopped on top of her, both of them trying to catch their breath.  He raised his head to look at her, brushed back her dampened blonde hair and moved his hand down to cup her face, tracing his thumb along her cheek.  Her arms were around him, holding him close, never wanting to move from this position.  He kissed her lips sweetly and she kissed back and they held each other until they saw they saw the sky turning purple on the distant horizon.

They quickly dressed and he drove her back home in silence. Silence seemed to be their new thing.  Clarke thought they had so much to talk about.  But it’s as if the past didn’t matter anymore.  What they both did to each other; they loved each other so much and so passionately it was almost cruel.  So they just stopped and left, and it hurt them both but they thought it was for the best.  But it seems now, that no matter what happens, no matter how many times they leave they will find a way back to each other.  No matter how many times they go crashing down they will come back each and every time, because they never go out of style.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Her heart belonged to someone who couldn't stay.


	4. Out of the Woods

Clarke had gotten the call at 10:45  and was at the hospital by 11:00, suddenly tremendously grateful for the fact she lived so close for her internship.  Dr. Lahiri met her at the door and told what had happened.  “It’s not serious; 20 stitches and a minor concussion.”

“Where is he?” Clarke asked almost desperately.

“Right here,” Dr. Lahiri replied before sliding back a royal blue curtain to reveal Bellamy sitting on an exam table with his head hung.  He looked up, his eyes immediately finding Clarke’s, his wide in surprise.

“Clarke,” he said, his shock blatant, “what are you doing here?”

“You still have me as your emergency contact.” she replied.  Bellamy nodded and said nothing.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” Dr. Lahiri said before leaving to tend to another patient. Clarke waited a moment then walked towards Bellamy and gingerly held his head in her hands.  She examined the stitched laceration on his chin, his eyes looking at anything but her.  Dr. Lahiri was right, of course, it was minor, but that didn’t stop the wave of anger Clarke felt at Bellamy’s foolishness.

“What were you thinking?” Clarke snapped letting go of his face and crossing her arms.

“I wasn’t thinking, Clarke-” Bellamy began defensively.

“Clearly.”

“It was a car crash.” Bellamy continued trying to ignore Clarke’s comment, “An accident.  I didn’t plan for it to happen. It just … did.”  His defenses suddenly fell as his dead dropped to his lap.  Clarke’s anger melted away with his and she kneeled down to look him in the eye.

“What happened?” She asked, brow furrowed in concern, placing her hands on his thighs.  Bellamy hesitated.

“I … I just - hit the brakes too soon.” He answered shortly, not looking at her.  Clarke could tell from the look on his face that he felt guilty, he always held himself responsible for the horrible things that happened in his life.  And then it was as if Clarke fell in love with him all over again.  She just wanted to hold him in her arms and tell him everything was fine.

“You do know no one else got hurt, right?” Clarke inquired tentatively.

“Yeah,” he finally looked up at her, “but what if someone had?”

“Bellamy,” Clarke began getting slightly annoyed, “don’t give me that shit.  You’re fine, and so is everyone else.  So, let’s get you home.”  Bellamy nodded and Clarke helped him up.  He grabbed his jacket as she checked him out then drove him to his apartment.

“Okay,” Clarke started as she closed the door, “I’m sure you know the drill; no watching TV or going on the computer or reading or anything that will stimulate the brain for at least 24 hours.  And no sleeping for 12.”

“Great,” Bellamy responded flopping down on the couch.  Clarke surveyed him for a moment, just sitting on the couch in the apartment that was once a second home to her. “What?” he shot when he caught her staring.

“Nothing,” Clarke said, “I just - I’d better stay.”

“Why?”

“It would be irresponsible to leave you alone with a fresh concussion,” that was only half of the truth, “especially for a doctor in training.”

“Okay.”

Clarke rolled her eyes at him, though he didn’t see.  He was acting so aloof, as if he didn’t care, but she knew him too well to think that was the case.  She dropped her bag by the door, hung her jacket on the coat stand, and went into the kitchen.

The room was all but the same as when they were together, Clarke made her way to the cupboard that held the glasses and took two out to fill them with water at the fridge.  A picture stuck to the metallic door caught her eye and wave of nostalgia crashed over her, it was a polaroid of her and Bellamy lying on the couch just in the other room.  She took it off the fridge door and went back into the living room.  She set the glasses of water down on the coffee table and sat beside Bellamy.

“I remember this night,” Clarke said to him, he leaned over to look at the picture in her hand.

“It was the first night you stayed over,” Bellamy said fondly.

“We moved the furniture so we could slow dance to Bob Dylan-” Clarke began.

“And stayed out on the couch all night talking.” Bellamy finished.  They didn’t have to say anything but Clarke knew they were both thinking the same thing: Where did that go?  Everything had been so magical, until it wasn’t.  They got lost in the woods that was haunted by monsters and they never found their way out.  Clarke remembers that night all too well; the fight, Clarke screaming at him to open up to her, Bellamy saying he couldn’t take it anymore, her walking out the front door and never coming back … until now.

“That was also the night,” Bellamy began, shaking Clarke out of her thoughts, “that I realized my life with you would be so … colourful?  Yeah, colourful.  Like my world was grey and boring until you stepped into it.  Like Dorothy when she enters Oz.  I just knew that I loved you.”

Clarke stared at him, “You never told me that.”  She didn’t know how to feel in this moment, weather to love him or hate him.

“I never told you a lot of things,” he sighed.

“Like what?” Now she was curious.

“That’s a loaded question.”

“Come on, Bellamy,” Clarke prodded, “you know you can tell me anything.”  Bellamy looked down into Clarke’s blue eyes as if he was looking into the ocean.

“I know.  But for some reason I never did.”

“Well, now’s your chance.”

"I don't know,"  Bellamy looked down at his hands, “I wouldn’t know how.”

"What are you talking about?"  Clarke reached out to hold his face but turned away from it. "Bellamy, what's wrong?" There was a pause as he seemed to be thinking.  He leaned forward still looking down at his hands, refusing to meet Clarke's eye.

"Clarke, I -" He began, trying to find the right words.  She listened intently. "You know I had to raise my sister after my mom died, and that it wasn't exactly easy.  But I never told you some of the things I had to do to keep us alive; to keep food in the table." His voice cracked and he put head in his hands, Clarke was immediately by his side with an arm on his back. "I hurt people Clarke.  I did horrible things for horrible people.  My mom - if she knew.  She raised me to be better."

"You are better, though." Bellamy looked up at her, eyes swimming with tears.  Clarke had said it without thinking; but as soon as the words came out she knew it was true. "Bellamy - you took care of your sister and you've done so much good despite what you think.  What you did is in the past, and it's okay.  And I ... I forgive you." At this point Clarke had noticed the burning sensation in her eyes and the tears that threatened to spill over. "I love you." The reality of those words just now began sink in to Bellamy and the tears began to roll down his cheeks.

"I love you," Bellamy said through the mess of blonde waves that had blurred his vision.  Clarke's arms were around him, relentlessly holding him to her as the tears fell from her eyes, and he held her right back.  The rest of the night they held each other, whispered "I love you"'s dispersed sporadically throughout the silence. In the morning Clarke blinked at the rising sun that poured light into the room from the windows. As the day dawned so did a thought dawn on Clarke; the monsters they had feared were merely trees draped in shadow and together they ran out of the woods and into the clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They loved each other recklessly.


	5. All You Had To Do Was Stay

That night Bellamy had taken Clarke to the movies.  It was an old theatre from the 30's that had been updated and refurbished, they were showing old films and that night it was Casablanca.  They had gotten popcorn and candy at the concession and chose two seats near the back.  The red velvet curtain glided open and the grayscale movie began playing.  Halfway through they had both lost interest in the film and could not keep there hands off one another.  They managed to break apart long enough to catch the end, then stood and exited with everyone else.

Clarke invited Bellamy up into her apartment and they barely made it inside the door before they started tearing off their clothes.  Finally making it to the bedroom Bellamy pushed Clarke onto the bed and took off his boxers.  Clarke unclasped her bra and flung it to the floor and crashed her lips to Bellamy's.  He laid her back on the bed and pulled down her underwear, tracing feather light kisses down her body and then back up.

They rocked back and forth that night, Bellamy kissed her neck and collarbone, and Clarke ran her hands through his shaggy brown curls.  Their rhythm was slow at first and desperately hastened until they were practically unravelling in each other's arms. They slept close to one another.  Entwined in each other’s limbs.  Clarke slept soundlessly and dreamlessly.  But in the morning Bellamy wasn't beside her anymore.

Clarke wrapped herself in her flannel robe and walked out in the her living room.  Bellamy was at the door shrugging on his coat.

"Where are you going?" Clarke asked.  Bellamy turned around.

"To get coffee," he said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, "I'll be back in a couple of minutes." He walked over and placed a kiss on Clarke's forehead then walked out.  She stared at the door a moment before entering her kitchen and opening up one of the cupboards.  She felt a prickling in the back of her throat, she blinked back tears and slammed the cupboard shut.  She already had coffee.

 

* * *

Clarke had finally got her life back together.  She was starting to feel happy again.  And now he's calling her.  He's fucking calling her.  She thinks about just letting it ring and return to her studying but he keeps calling.  And calling.  And calling.  So finally, Clarke answers.

"What?" She snaps.

"Hey, Clarke," Bellamy's voice hit Clarke with a force like a wrecking ball, memories flooding back to her of happier times.  For a second she thought she might crumble to pieces right there on her bed, but she pulls herself out of it.

“Hi,” Clarke responds, short and cold.

“It’s been a while,” Bellamy says, she could hear the smile in his voice, “I miss you.”

Clarke doesn’t know what to say.  Despite the fact that he left her, that he pushed her away while she opened up to him, she feels deep down that she misses him, too.  But her stubbornness won't let her admit it;  Bellamy had made a mess of what they had, he made a mess of Clarke, and for the past few months she’s been picking up the pieces.  In light of all this, she would still find herself thinking about him, hoping he was doing well, hoping he was doing horribly.  And now, with his voice seeping into all the places she thought she closed off, she found that she still loved him.

“Clarke?” Bellamy prodded after a long silence.

“I don’t know,” Clarke stammered out, “I just - don’t know, Bellamy.  I miss you, too - but I just don’t think - I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Bellamy says sympathetically, “I fucked up.  I got scared and I fucked up.  There’s no excuse. I just … wanted to know how you were.”  Clarke felt heat prickling her eyes.  So that’s why he left.  She had a million questions that she kept to herself, these were answers she wanted in person.

“I’m actually doing pretty good,” she said, willing away her tears, “I’m busy; finals and all.”

“You were always a nerd,” Clarke could practically hear him smirking through the phone.

“Shut up!” She laughed.  This was so easy, almost like before. Almost. “How have you been doing?”

“Great!”

“I take you’re a certified F.B.I. agent now; badge and all.”

“Almost.  I had my final assessment today, so here’s hoping.”

“I’m sure you did great.”

“Well, thanks.”

There was a silence.  Clarke listened to Bellamy’s breathing on the other end of the line, and she was taken back to their fourth date on his couch watching old scary movies.  Clarke had gotten tired and laid down on Bellamy’s chest, listening to his heart until she fell asleep.  Oh, how she missed him.  Clarke cleared her throat. “Well, I should let you go.”

“Oh, yeah.  Sure.”

“I got studying to do and stuff.”

“Right. Clarke?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Can I call you again?” His voice was eager, and almost a little sad.  Clarke told herself she shouldn’t, it would only lead to heartbreak just like before.  But now she finds herself thinking even if it does; so what.  She loves him.  She wants to be with him.  Even for a little while longer.  If it works out, then all the better.

“Yeah.” She finally answered, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Wow,” Clarke could hear the surprise in his laugh, “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Clarke revelled in his happiness, because she knew he deserved happiness.  But Clarke couldn't help herself, the question was burning inside her. “You know, Bel?  You just had to stay.”

The remorse in his voice almost wounded her, “I know.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They paid the price.


	6. Shake It Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one was interesting because I wasn't originally going to do it as I didn't really feel inspired by it. However, lelamarie wanted to know what I was doing with it so here it is. I definitely turned the meaning of the song on it's head, but oh well. It's short but sweet. Enjoy  
> :)

Clarke was used to it.  She’d had shit thrown at her all her life.  Whether it was her classmates making fun of her.  Or her parents or teachers lecturing her.  She would just shake it off and keep on going with her life.  Even now, on the ground, people would talk about her, whether it was bad or good she learned not care.  She wouldn’t stop everything and freak out because people thought poorly of her.  No.  She had shit that needed to be done.

And so what if she never felt this way about someone before, she couldn’t risk it.  She couldn’t risk letting herself fall; letting herself get distracted.  There was so much that needed to be done and his tanned skin and expressive brown eyes would not distract her from that.  Sometimes she would catch herself looking at him.  Looking at the way his old shirt stretched around his toned arms and chest.  Or the way his curly brown hair would sway with each movement he made.  But she would stop herself before it became a huge deal, because it was never going to happen, and that was the truth.  Clarke knew it, even though some parts of her didn’t always act like she did.  However, she was still resolved on doing the shit she needed to do.  She just needed to shake it off and keep going.

* * *

This whole “shake it off” thing didn’t really work for she kept looking at him, and eventually he noticed and started to look at her, too.  They reserved themselves to looks, but only for a while.  And one day, silently, an agreement fell upon them when they were hunting in the woods one day:

“You keep looking at me,” he says plainly.

“Well, you look back,” she replied looking into his eyes.

Before either of them knew it they were kissing.  Passionately.  Desperately.  It was a long time in waiting, but, man, were the both glad they did it.  The feeling of their lips together was like nothing they’d ever tasted and it felt so good to finally try it.  Clarke never knew she could her clothes off so quickly, or do it like that; hard, and fast, and hot, and against a tree.  It was so exhilarating feeling Bellamy inside her, kissing her neck and her mouth, crashing into her over and over, until they crashed over the edge.  When they fell to the ground Clarke allowed herself melt into Bellamy’s body when he put his arms around her.  After a while, they figured they should get up and actually do some hunting.  They dressed slowly, taking in each other’s bodies, before setting off again.

As Bellamy walked in front of her; gun poised in his hands, ready to shoot, ears perched to catch any sound - Clarke told herself: _you just gotta shake it off._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She danced to forget him.


	7. I Wish You Would

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I haven't updated this in a while. I've been ridiculously swamped. Anyway, this song is about two people who aren't together but are still in love in someway and think about each other all the time; the story telling is superb. This story is heavily influenced by the song. Please, enjoy.

It’s 2 am and Bellamy has been up all night driving.  Driving to forget.  Driving to remember.  Driving just to think: to think about her.  He turns on to her street and the memories replay in his head.  Their first date.  First kiss.  Dancing on the beach.  Watching the stars.  The smell of green apples that always seemed to cling to her.  The golden waves cascading from her head.  Her laugh.  Her touch.  He drives past her house, the windows are dark and the house is silent.

_ She’s probably asleep. _

_ This is stupid. _

_ Why do I keep doing this? _

_ She probably still hates me, anyways. _

With that, he turns off her street and drives home.

  
  
  


It’s 2 am and Clarke is sitting in her kitchen with the lights off, staring into the darkness.  Her hands slack around her mug of tea that has now gone cold.  She can’t sleep.  She doesn’t know why, but for a while now her thoughts have been keeping her awake at night.  Her thoughts of him.  Her house lights up for a few seconds as a car passes outside and Clarke thinks of Bellamy.

_ Stop it, Clarke. _

_ It’s over. _

_ He probably thinks I hate him. _

_ I wish he knew that I didn’t. _

_ He doesn’t know. _

_ I never said it. _

_ I just wish he would come back. _

_ I wish I could remember why we even fought. _

_ Why do I keep doing this to myself? _

Despite all her efforts Clarke could not bring herself to regret the relationship they had had.  It was crazy and passionate and tumultuous and wonderful and she loved every second of it.  It was so twisted, so crooked, ever changing, they could never stay in one place.  It was scary and with anyone else she was sure she would’ve ran from it, instead it made her turn around and love him even more.  And then it all came crashing down in one fell swoop.  One phone call.  And they were done.

_ I wish he was here, right now, beside me. _

_ He gave me so much. _

_ He also gave me nothing. _

Clarke dumped her cold tea down the drain and went off to bed, tossing and turning the whole night through.

  
  


The next night as Bellamy passed Clarke’s house and he told himself  _ fuck it _ , and pulled into the driveway.  He knew it was the middle of the night, and she’d probably just turn him away, but he needed to see her face one last time.  He rung the doorbell and wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his pants.  She answered the door quite lucid, as if she wasn’t sleeping.  She had her hair in a messy bun on top of her head and was wearing her pyjamas.  No doubt, she was surprised to see him.

“Bellamy.  What - what are you doing?” she asked when she saw him.

“I- well …”  He found himself at a loss for words on how to explain himself.   _ What was he doing here? _ “I, um … I wanted to see you …”

“Oh …” Clarke wasn’t sure what to say to that.  She wanted to see him too, but -  _ what? _

“I know this is crazy,” Bellamy starts, finding his voice, “but I could never stop thinking about you.  I drive past here every night.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.  I always wonder how you’re doing and ... I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m doing here, you probably hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” 

This surprised him. “You don’t?”

“No.” Clarke’s eyes were alight with emotion in the dim of her front step. “I … I miss you, actually.”

“I miss you, too,” The words slipped out of his mouth without a thought.  There was a pause as they stared at each other intently, neither of them knowing what to say next.

“Do you want to come in?” Clarke says, suddenly, stepping aside.  Bellamy crosses the threshold, walking past Clarke into the familiar foyer.  She closes the door and asks him if he wants something to drink.

“Sure.  Maybe something strong.” Clarke half-heartedly smiles, and makes her way into the kitchen, Bellamy follows her.  He sits down at the little round kitchen table as Clarke busies herself at the counter, the lights still off.

“So,” Bellamy starts in an attempt at normal conversation, but nothing felt normal about this, “when did you stop hating me?” There certainly was not anything normal about this.  Nevertheless, Clarke smiled.

“I never hated you,” she looks over at him, “but I was very mad at you.”

“But you aren’t now?”

“No.”

“When did you stop being mad at me, then?”

“I don’t know,” Clarke says sitting down across from Bellamy, setting two rum n’ cokes on the table.  “I just realized one day that I missed you too much to be mad anymore.”

“You miss me?” Bellamy asks, eyes ablaze with something Clarke couldn’t quite place.

“More than you know.” Clarke replies, not making eye contact, “Lately, there hasn’t been a night where I don’t think about you.”

“Really?”

Clarke nods.

They both smiled in the dark, just able to make out the other’s face.  There they were thinking that the other hated them.  Staying up all night thinking about each other.  And now, here they are, like nothing had changed.

“We are a couple of idiots, aren’t we?” Clarke can’t help herself from saying.

“Yeah, a little.” Bellamy smirked, “but you more than me.”  Clarke nudges him playfully with her hand.  She knew he was joking.  He was always joking.  He always knew how to push her buttons.  And she loved him for it.  She loved him because he knew the deepest most intimate versions of herself, the worst versions of herself and he still loved her.  She knew all the darkest and hopeless versions of Bellamy, and still loved him.

“I wish we could go back,” Clarke thought aloud.  Bellamy stared at her intently.

“We could.”

And just like that they were crashing together, lips desperately kissing the other, deeply and more passionately than ever before.  Bodies so close Clarke couldn’t tell where hers stopped and Bellamy’s began.  They spent the night together, never touching their drinks.  And Clarke was glad; glad she had a clear mind, enjoying every touch and sensation.  His hot breath on her neck, the sound of his voice.  And in the morning, when the sun poured through Clarke’s bedroom windows, she looked up Bellamy whose eye’s were closed in sleep.  She nuzzled into the crook of his neck, fitting herself to his body.

“I’ll never ever forget you,” she whispered, though she knew he couldn’t hear, “as long as I live.”

He didn’t need convincing.

Neither did she.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He drove past her street each night.


	8. Wildest Dreams/This Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 2 finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. What? I finally updated! This has been sitting half done in my documents for like two years and for some reason now is when I get the inspiration to finish it. #writerprobs Anyway, I think I'll end the series here because this was the fic I had started this series for and just never finished it. I doubt I'll write anymore for this series, just because I want to move on, but if I do, it'll be here.

Clarke had wanted this.  She had wanted this for so long.  Ever since his little retort during their first encounter on the dropship:  _ Then we’re all dead anyway _ .  Though it was different at first, it was just feral lust and raging hormones that drove her need.  Now, she loves him. She loves him and she wants him.  So his offer of a drink was a nice place to start considering she knew she wouldn’t see him for sometime.  As much as everyone meant to her she just couldn’t stay, she couldn’t face what she had done for them.  But she could face him.  At least for a little while.

The drink didn’t last long, even just being in the same room as everyone was torture and Bellamy sensed it.  So they found a quiet place away from everyone in Bellamy’s room in a far corner of the Ark.  At first they just sat in silence looking out of his window at everyone, but Clarke decided to break the silence.  He deserved to know, “Take care of them for me.”

Bellamy looked over at her, he knew exactly what she meant and he wasn’t about to step aside and allow it, “Clarke, we can get through this.”

“I can’t stay,” was her simple response, still not looking at him.

He was quiet for half a moment and Clarke looked up at him.  His face was impassive, but when he spoke his voice betrayed him. “If you need forgiveness,” he began, his face softening and his expressive brown eyes seemed to be pleading with Clarke, “I'll give that to you.  You're forgiven.”  Clarke felt a pang in her heart at these words, the words she’d told him only a few months ago when he was going to leave the 100 out of guilt. 

_ This is different _ , she tells herself.   _ Massively different _ . Clarke looks anywhere but Bellamy and bites the inside of her cheek to stop the memories from taking over.  “Seeing their faces everyday,” Clarke began, not looking at him, “It’s just going to remind me what I did to get them here.”

“What  _ we _ did,” Bellamy immediately protested, “Clarke, you don’t have to do this alone.”

Clarke was deeply aware of how close they were sitting, she could feel the heat from his body, she could feel his deep brown gaze on her and looked up to meet it.  She couldn’t help herself, not anymore.  She wanted this one moment with him, a beautiful memory of the ground to take with her when she left.  It would sustain her through her torment, to know how his touch would feel, how his lips would taste, how it felt for him to be inside her.  She slowly closed the distance between them, tenderly brushing her lips against his.  She placed her hand on his abdomen, balling his shirt in her fist to pull him closer.  She let a breath out against his lips, acutely aware of how still he was being.  She was about to abandon her plan when his hands cupped her face and crashed his lips on hers.

She slid her arms around him and pressed herself against him, deepening the kiss.  One of his hands raked through her hair as the other traced the curve of her body holding her tight to him.  He lowered them down onto his bed until the full weight of her body was on him and she could feel every bit of his body and his warmth through her clothes.  She slid her tongue along his bottom lip, begging for entrance.  He opened his mouth eagerly for her and she could taste his tongue and hers dancing around and it was divine, but she needed more.  She hurriedly removed his shirt and contemplated his beautiful, olive-toned body.  She ran her hands down his chest, tracing the curve of his abs to his belt line.

He sat up suddenly, holding her by the waist with one hand, the other tracing her jawline with his thumb as he looked into her eyes.  “Clarke,” his voice was low and husky, “are you sure you want this.”

“God, yes,” she meant to say this in her head, but it slipped out before she could stop it and she didn’t care.  And then their mouths were crashing together again.  Bellamy’s hands travelled down her body, slipping under her shirt to remove it.  He kissed down her neck, her collar bone, down the curve of her breast.  Clarke reached behind her to unclasp her bra and she tossed it to the floor.  She felt his hot, wet kisses on her breasts, the flick of his tongue on one of her nipples, then a flash of teeth against it.  She let out a soft gasp at this action and could feel the heat pooling between her legs.  She needed more.

Clarke brought Bellamy’s face back up hers and flipped them so he was on top and she could feel his hardness against her core, through their clothing.  She kissed his jawline and nipped at his neck eliciting a low moan from him that she’d die to hear again.  She needed him closer, she needed him inside her, and she needed it now.  She broke from his neck to impatiently push down his trousers, as she was doing this she felt a soft, tender kiss on her temple that stopped her in her tracks. It was such a simple and gentle action and she wanted to weep because she remembered who she was with.  She was with Bellamy.  Bellamy; whom she loved most.  Bellamy; whom she could always trust and rely on.  Bellamy; whom she was going to leave.

She looked up at him, her blue eyes into his brown ones.  His face was so close to hers she could count the constellations on his face, she could feel his laboured breathing on her cheek.  Her hands found his face and she held it as she admired him, as she memorized every part of his beauty.  She drew him in for a kiss.  It was slow and tender and simple and she wanted nothing more than to tell him how she felt.  But if she did she knew she would have to stay and she couldn’t.  So instead she tried to tell him with action of her mouth against his, with her body against his, and she could only hope that he knew what it meant.

After a few moments, Clarke remembered her abandoned task and began removing her own trousers.  Struggling a bit as her mouth and Bellamy’s were still connected.  She felt his small smile against her mouth and he broke away to help her out of her jeans and then ridded himself of his own trousers.  Now it was just them.  They were completely bare in front of each other.  Bellamy was sitting between her open legs, his eyes wandering the length of her body and she felt herself reflexively flush, her need growing even more.

Bellamy looked at her with a fiery gaze as his hands trailed down her thighs to her knees where he lifted them over his shoulders, lowering himself to her aching core.  She could feel his hot breath down there and with his eyes never breaking from hers he opened his mouth and slid his tongue flat against her wetness making her moan in satisfaction.  He continued licking and lapping at her dripping core, sucking the bundle of nerves at the apex of her entrance, making her grab his hair and squeeze her thighs around his head.  Clarke relished in the sensation of his mouth on her and she could feel her peak was close, but she didn’t want it like this, she wanted it with him.

“Bellamy,” she murmured, as she pulled his head from between her legs, “I need you inside me.”  He grinned wolfishly at her desire and moved back up her body so she could taste herself on his lips.  Clarke grasped at his upper arms with one hand as the other trailed down to Bellamy’s hard length.  She could feel his grasp tighten around her, his jaw clenching as she took hold of him.  His head dipped into the crook of her neck as she gave him a few pumps to prepare him and perched him at her entrance.  “Look at me, Bel” she said softly, needing his familiar brown eyes. 

Bellamy raised his head so it was hovering only a few centimeters away from hers. They looked into each other's eyes and there was an emotion there that clarke couldn’t quite put her finger on, but they held their gaze as Bellamy pushed himself into her.  They both let out a breath they didn’t know they were holding, and gripped each other even tighter than before.  They took a moment in this position, gaze still locked, then Bellamy leaned down to kiss her passionately and began an agonizingly slow rhythm with his hips.  Clarke met each of his thrusts, keeping the slow rhythm as her hands wandered the length of his back, up and down, before travelling into dark locks and tugging slightly.

Bellamy began to quicken their pace as his hand travelled down her sides, his mouth leaving a trail of hot wet kisses down her neck.  Suddenly, his hands were around her waist and pulling her into a sitting position.  She moaned as she moved over him, his head was buried in her breast. He was now filling her completely and fully in this position and it felt holy and sinful at the sametime.  Clarke began grinding her hips against him in such a way that it hit that spot inside her that made her see stars.  She held on to Bellamy, kissing his neck, listening to his laboured breaths and low moans that matched her own.  And they continued to grind and thrust into each other until she felt his pace became erratic, and the hand he had in her hair was balled into fist, she knew he was as close as she was.  A few more thrusts as he hit that spot inside her and they both fell over the edge together, crying each other’s names.

Clarke’s nails were pressed hard into the skin of Bellamy’s back as she came down from her high, trembling, no doubt leaving marks.  She felt like she had no strength left as she fell back onto Bellamy’s bed, pulling him with her.  They lay for a while with him still inside her, taking the moment to catch their breaths and recollect their thoughts.  Bellamy was the first to stir, looking up at Clarke with wide eyes, searching her features for a sign that she was okay.  She brought a hand to his cheek and he pressed against it, she offered him a small smile.  Finally, he removed himself from and layed on his side beside her.  They looked at each other through the haze of their exhaustion and bliss and so they fell asleep in each other’s arms. 

 

 

It was in the early hours of the morning when Clarke awoke, before the first light of the dawn had crept from the trees.  It was from a nightmare of deformed Mountain Men chasing her through the woods before they finally caught her.  She felt hot tears on her cheeks that she quickly wiped away.  She turned to see Bellamy sleeping beside her, and the memories from earlier came flooding back to her, offering a small comfort.  She wanted to reach out and touch him, but she knew that would wake him up and she dared not disrupt him when he looked so peaceful.  She took in the rare sight for a few moments, then forced herself out of the bed, careful not to wake him.  She got dressed as quietly as she could and was about to leave when she heard Bellamy shift, the sound his voice soon following.

“Clarke?” he sounded hoarse and utterly exhausted.  She stood staring at the door, and half turned to her head to address him.

“Bel,” she began, not knowing what to say.  She then turned fully to look at him, he was sitting at the edge of the bed, the sheet wrapped around his lower half.  She sighed deeply and simply told him “I bear it so they don’t have to.”  It was the only thing she could think of saying, though her heart stung at the President’s words, she felt it was the only answer she had.  What they had done was awful.  As awful as what the Mountain Men had done to the grounders and the sky people.

Bellamy’s eyes bore into her own, silently pleading with her to stay, while simultaneously resigning to her leaving.  “Where’re you gonna go?” he asked.

Clarke took a moment, she had no answer.  There was nowhere for her to go, but she still couldn’t stay.  “I don’t know,” she finally replied.  They were silent a few moments, before Clarke crossed the room to kneel before him and kissed him softly on the cheek before pulling him in for one last embrace.  “May we meet again,” she whispered.  The words had always seem to hold an emptiness for her after her father died, but now they only ring true.  As she buries her face into the crook of his neck, taking in his scent and his warmth, she truly hopes the will see each other again.  Even if it’s just in their wildest dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He only saw her in his dreams. She lost him, but she found herself and somehow, that was everything.


End file.
